


heavy on the skin

by notwithhaste



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s05e15 Tick Tock, F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwithhaste/pseuds/notwithhaste
Summary: Episode tag to 5.15 Tick Tock; set immediately after the I-think-you're-worthy scene in Donna's apartment."You're about to throw yourself off a cliff and save everyone and I'm telling you it's not just yourself you’re sacrificing.”
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Kudos: 18





	heavy on the skin

**Author's Note:**

> If this is familiar, you might have read it over on ff net. Just reposting my fics here for tidiness and posterity.
> 
> If you haven’t read it, I hope you enjoy. :)

There are several reasons why he goes to Donna that night.

She's probably a little bit right; he wants to be talked out of it. He doesn't know if anything she might say will change his mind, but he needs to hear he's not a complete fuck-up.

But that's not all there is to it.

Harvey goes to Donna that night because caring makes a person vulnerable and he really fucking cares and she's the only one he could ever allow himself to be vulnerable with.

Harvey goes to Donna because he's about to do something that will change his life forever, and for better or for worse, she's been the most important part of it for over a decade.

But when it comes right down to it, it's as simple as this. He goes to Donna because he could be going to prison tomorrow and she's the only place he wants to be.

She tells him he's worthy, tells him she doesn't want to lose him and he has to push himself off that chair and turn around and leave, because the way she's looking at him; he really wants to stay.

He wonders for a moment if Mike and Rachel are having a similar conversation. Figures they probably are, and it's uncanny, how completely entangled their lives are – his and Donna's – when he doesn't even have the right to come to her door unannounced.

He's outside when she tells him to have faith in the jury like she has faith in him, and he recognizes what she's doing. Remembers the conversation she's reminding him of.

She's not losing faith in him and that makes all the difference. He gives her a small nod. Tonight, he'll go home. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow, there will be consequences to his actions.

But she knows him, knows his loyalties and his weaknesses, and when he turns around to leave, her voice stops him, "Don't do it, Harvey."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he turns back to her. "Donna," his voice is warning and his eyes are pleading with her; she pushes anyway.

"Don't do it. For me." She's looking at him, and she looks composed except for the slight tremble in her voice giving her away. "I never ask, but I'm asking now. Don't do it for me."

"Donna," he tries again. "I screwed up. I got us all into this mess and now," he trails off, spreading his arms. His shoulders slump and he gives her a shrug. It's been a long goddamn time since he's felt this helpless, and he's not a boy anymore, but he sure feels lost.

It's like she senses his indecision, and her voice is firm when she throws his words at him. "The thought of you going to prison makes me want to drop to my knees," she says quietly and he purses his lips in understanding. "Think back. Think about how you felt when it was me." There's a touch of desperation in her voice, her palms flat over her chest.

He averts his eyes, looking over her shoulder and into her apartment – _so you don't ever have to feel that scared again_ – and the panic and the desperation and the dread burn under his ribs.

He looks back to her, and she nods. "That is how I feel right now, Harvey. And I know I shouldn't, and I feel awful for even saying any of this, because I love Mike and I love Rachel," she pauses, looks at him with wide eyes. Whispers, "But I love you."

They stare at each other in silence for a beat, both perfectly still. The question is on the tip of his tongue, and he presses it against the back of his teeth in an effort to keep quiet. He knows the answer anyway. Sees it in the way her eyes widen in horror, like she's said too much.

Knows it, because it's the same as his own.

But she has Mitchell now, and shit, Mitchell. And he's about to throw his life away and he can live with that. He can't live with further wrecking hers.

But he also thinks _me too_ and _twelve goddamn years_ , and he's usually better at silencing those, but it's like all he's feeling is right there on the surface tonight and he's powerless to suppress it. Harvey bites his tongue, stares it into her because he feels the whole situation getting out of hand and they're both teetering on the edge of something impulsive and he's desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Donna," he warns, but she interrupts him, ignoring her confession.

"I don't want to lose you, Harvey." She shrugs, "Doesn't that mean anything?"

It's pretty fucking telling that she has to ask. "You know it does." It's the only thing that does. "But what would you have me do, Donna?" He sounds desperate and he is.

"I don't know, Harvey," she says, raising her eyebrows. "But you're about to throw yourself off a cliff and save everyone and I'm telling you it's not just yourself you’re sacrificing."

"Don't you think I know that?" his voice rises as he takes a step closer.

"Do you?"

"Yes," he exclaims, exasperated. "Why do you think I came here instead of going to Gibbs?"

"Because you want to be talked out of it."

"Because I need you to be okay with it!"

"I don't know if I can!" she shoots back. Her eyes are wet but her cheeks are dry as she shakes her head slowly at him. "I'm sorry, Harvey," she whispers and he can tell she is.

Pressing his lips together, he swallows. They're toe to toe now, and his thumb rubs against tha pads of his fingers and he wants to touch her, but he has no right to that, either. Sighing, he shifts his weight and opens his mouth, finds he has no idea what to say. Donna blinks and she's looking at him like she's ready to say goodnight; like she's used to him leaving, and he wonders if she knows it's not that he ever wants to leave her. He's just always been too scared to stay.

He's scared of other things tonight.

He reaches for her then, but doesn't quite make contact, his hand hovering awkwardly between them. "I never meant –"

for this to happen; for you to get hurt; to feel this way about you.

All of the above.

"I know," she says sadly.

He closes his eyes, tries to gather his scattered thoughts. He feels her fingers wrap loosely around his but she doesn't pull and she doesn't tighten her hold. Opening his eyes, he looks down at their hands, then up at her face. She cocks her head to the side. He slips his fingers between her own and it's a perfect fit.

He looks at where their fingers link. She's always been a perfect fit.

"God, I wish," and he doesn't finish that thought, either. He wishes for a lot of things.

"Stay," she says simply, her voice deep and intimate.

"Mitchell," he trails off, his eyes on her thumb moving over his knuckles.

She shakes her head once, slowly, "That's over."

Harvey isn't sure whether that means they broke up or she's breaking up with him in the morning, and he could ask. He could insist on this technicality. It could be his excuse.

But Donna's not his mother, and this isn't that. He trusts Donna. And he's all out of time for excuses.

His eyes on her mouth, he closes the distance between them. He runs his nose along her own, nudging, and he feels her sharp breath on his lips.

"This could make things worse."

She moves her head just so, her mouth barely brushing his. "I really don't see how."

He finds at that moment, neither does he. There's a good chance he's either going to prison tomorrow or Mike is and he can't decide which outcome terrifies him more.

The thought of not touching her for the next however many years is enough to make him panic. It's enough to make him move.

As soon as his lips touch hers, all the hesitation evaporates.

Donna's mouth opens on a breath, immediate and needy, her free hand fisting the shirt at his side, fingers bruising as they dig into muscle. He welcomes it. Deepening the kiss, he backs her into the apartment, blindly shoving the door closed as he lets his coat fall to the floor. Spinning them around, his tongue clashes with hers as her hands run up and over his chest, frantically pushing his suit jacket back and off his shoulders. Pressing her against the door, he moves his arms to help her, left then right, the jacket falling somewhere behind him as his hands become free to grab her. His thumb presses into her jaw as he palms the side of her neck, other hand on her ribs and she feels pliant in his arms, her fingers rifling through the hair at the back of his head as she pulls him closer, closer, moaning around his tongue.

His fingers tangle in her hair as he kisses along her jawline, under her ear, groaning against her neck when she buckles against him. He sucks on her pulse point in retaliation and feels her nails dig into his scalp, her head falling back against the door with a thump. He stands up straight to look at her. Her eyes are screwed shut, her mouth hanging open, a strand of hair clinging to her lips. He reaches out to gently thumb it away, lingering to run it over her cheek.

He hasn't seen her this unguarded in almost twelve years. She opens her eyes to look at him and he feels each and every year.

"This is not how I imagined our second time to go," he says quietly.

"With you about to hand yourself in to the authorities?" she breathes. "No."

His shoulders slumping, his head falls to the side. "I need to do this, Donna," he sounds foreign to his ears, his voice desperate and pleading and he knows he's trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince her.

"Why." And her question sounds more like a demand. Sounds a lot like a why from a few months ago.

"I need," he shakes his head. He doesn't know how to explain to her he wants to be the man she seems to see when she looks at him. When she tells him he's worthy. When she tells him she loves him. He's sick and tired of falling short of that guy. "I need to be the man who deserved his friendship and his trust." He doesn't voice the rest.

Cradling the side of his face, she brings his head up, forces him to look at her. "You are." He stares at her lips, red and swollen and perfect, as she says, firmly, "Right now, I almost wish you weren't." She gives him a sad smile. "But you are."

He makes a face, but she's looking at him with absolute conviction, her eyes wide and earnest, her head shaking in disbelief and christ. He doesn't think she's right but tonight he wants to pretend she is.

He feels her fingers land on the front of his shirt, slowly starting to work on the buttons but giving up after two, tugging at it instead until it's out of his pants. His eyes close when her fingers work their way under the material, skimming across his lower belly.

"Donna," he breathes into her hairline.

She ignores him, her hands continuing to gently roam that space between his belly button and his belt and by the time she hooks two fingers inside his pants, he's fully hard. Pressing into her, he pins her further against the door. She must feel his erection then because her breath catches, her eyes lifting to his, dark and hooded and wanting. She returns the favor, her fingers tightening their grip as she thrusts her hips forward.

Leaning in, he kisses her and it bruises, her head falling back against the door. Her hands undo his belt then the button and the zipper, frantically parting the material. He thrusts forward, into her hand and into her, pushing her back into the door, his mouth open on her throat and he can feel her moan against his lips. His dick twitches under her fingers.

"Donna," he groans, reaching between them and grabbing her wrist loosely, staying her movements. His thumb rubs circles over her pulse, his breath hot and heavy on her lips. "If you keep it up, this'll be over before it starts."

She bites her lip. "Aren't you tired of waiting."

"You have no idea."

He doesn't want quick, though, not tonight. He's been denying himself this for a long goddamn time and now all around them shit is hitting the fan and their house is on fire and he wants to drown himself in her.

Looking down, he follows his thumb as it trails over her bare forearm, his fingers gentle on her freckled skin. Lifting his gaze, he catches her holding her breath as she watches him touch her.

All those years. And now he's facing disbarment and prison and all he can think is that he should have touched her more.

Harvey abandons her arm to pull on the hem of her sweater. His hands slip underneath and it's all warm and soft and skin and now that he's started touching her, he finds it really fucking difficult to stop. Running his palms up her sides, he brings the white material with him. She lifts her arms and he gets the sweater over her head, drops it to the floor behind him.

She's left in a white bra and trousers and he can't decide which one to take off first. His hands are back on her, roaming her waist, her ribs, her lower back, thumbs digging into flesh as he presses flush against her, his forehead landing against the door.

Closing his eyes, he runs his hands up and down her sides, "Are you sure about this?" He needs to check. He's about to pass the point of no return, and tomorrow he could be going to prison and he needs her – he always needs her, in every way imaginable – but he's pretty sure she could do without all his shit this time round.

"What do you think, Harvey," she replies, breathless.

"I think you might regret this tomorrow," he says, his voice deep with the truth of it.

"I won't." She pushes against him a little, her head turning to catch his eye. Her voice is soft and sure and leaves no room for doubt. "I've never regretted you, Harvey."

He has no idea how that's even possible but he feels high on the knowledge. He's well aware his love for her is selfish and needy and all-fucking-consuming and maybe if he were a better man, he wouldn't be here now. Maybe he would have been here years ago.

"I'm sorry for not being what you needed," he murmurs quietly. It's his biggest shortcoming. He's kept her at arms-length all the while holding onto her like a vice. It may not be fair, but neither is the fact he cannot function without her.

He feels her thumb gently rubbing the crook of his elbow. She smiles at him sadly, "You've always been pretty clueless about what I need."

He's always been too afraid of the answer to ask. Her eyes scan his face and he thinks maybe she's waiting for him to ask her now.

Instead, he averts his gaze, lowers his mouth to her shoulder, kisses along her neck. He feels her start unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, her hands slipping inside when she does. He closes his eyes as she drags her nails over his ribs.

His mouth finds hers blindly and the kiss is slower this time. Dragging his lips across hers, his bottom one curls out and nudges her mouth open, enough for his tongue to dart out and taste her. Her lips move against his and it's lazy and messy and wet, and it's the best kiss he's ever had. When she runs her tongue along his top lip he groans, his hips grinding against her.

Burying his fingers in her hair, he kisses down her chin, his teeth closing around it, and he scrapes his way down until he's tasting her throat. His lips trail a wet path over her collarbone and down down down until his open mouth is at the swell of her breast, his tongue licking at the pale skin above her bra. He hooks a finger inside the lacy material and looks up. Donna is watching him with hooded eyes and she didn't tell him what she needs, but by the looks of it, he's got the right idea.

The bra is one of those that unhook at the front and he does, his hands slowly pulling the material over and away and then her breasts are bare in front of him and jesus. He's thought about the other time, more than he'd ever admit, and he's not Mike but he's got a pretty decent memory. Over the years, though, it's become more about the feeling than the details.

He stares at the details.

"Harvey," she breathes and his hands move on reflex, cupping her breasts as his thumbs circle around her nipples. "Harvey," she moans softly, her head falling back.

He doesn't think he could ever tire of hearing her moan his name, and what the fuck took him so long.

Returning his mouth to her skin, he kisses over her breast, over the freckles – and he knows those freckles from all the times he tried really fucking hard not to look and not to want. He doesn't have to try tonight and it's a relief. He's wanted to taste her skin again pretty much ever since she told him he had to put it out of his mind. Going lower, mouth between her breasts, over her belly, her fingers dig in his hair as he drops to his knees before her. He drags his hands down her sides, grasping her waist as he kisses the soft skin above the waistline of her pants.

He stops there, his breathing labored. Swallowing thickly, he rests his forehead against her middle. His fingers knead her waist and lower, thumbs tracing her hips as he stays like that, breathing her in.

"Second thoughts?" she asks quietly, and he catches the resignation in her voice. Recognizes the hurt, too. Realizes she's always waiting for him to back out and walk out, even like this, even with him on his knees in front of her, his breath on her skin, inches away from her clothed center.

His thumbs dig into her hips as he lifts his eyes to hers, his voice harder than he intends, "If only you knew."

"If only you showed me," she retorts and there's no bite to her words. Instead, she sounds wistful.

Harvey's jaw tenses with frustration. It feels like he's been stuck in neutral for years, stalling her right along with him. If he's brutally honest with himself, he can admit the threat of impending incarceration is feeling pretty goddamn freeing right now. He's a betting man and he'd bet it does pretty much the same for her. Not much of a sex rule if your boss is in prison.

"Donna," he starts without breaking eye contact, his fingers slowly undoing her pants. "If there's one thing I've ever been sure about," he tugs on the material and slips it over her hips. "It's that I want you."

Her mouth parts on a breath, her eyes half-lidded as he slowly peels her pants down and off her legs until she's standing in front of him in nothing but her underwear. Hooking his fingers behind her knees, he runs his hands up her thighs, stops just under her buttocks.

His eyes scan her body as he hooks his thumbs inside her panties. He really wants to show her.

Holding his breath and looking up at her, he takes them off, tosses them with the rest of their clothes. Running his hand up the inside of her thigh, his fingers reach the apex, and he gently strokes along the skin there, his thumb pressing just shy of her center.

She swallows a moan and he twitches in his pants. "Can you, just."

Biting his lip, he turns his face to the right, his mouth following the same path, open and greedy.

Donna's knees buckle when he reaches just high enough to make her squirm and he smiles against her skin.

"Shut up, Harvey." It's low and breathy and so reminiscent of the other time, his heart aches in his chest.

Grabbing her calf, he pulls it up and hoists it over his shoulder and now she's spread open in front of him and he hasn't forgotten that, either.

He brings his mouth as close as he can without actually touching. "Jesus, Donna," he murmurs, licking his lips. "You're stunning."

He plants a kiss where her thigh meets her pussy, feels her respond. His hand squeezing her leg, his other one on her ass, he moves closer to where she needs him, his breath washing over her, making her moan. Tonight is not about teasing so he covers her clit, his mouth open, the length of his tongue pressing into it and he feels her heel digging into the back of his shoulder.

"God, Harvey," she moans, her hand clumsily landing in his hair to hold him in place.

As if he would even consider going anywhere.

The hand on her ass moves to the front, his fingers pulling at her flesh, parting her as he runs his tongue in messy patterns, dipping it inside her then up, long slow licks and barely-there flicks of his tongue, and she still likes that. He doesn't know why that's such a relief but it is. He still knows her like this. His fingers dig into her thigh.

He wishes he'd gotten undressed, because he's painfully hard against the restraints of his suit. Reaching down, he pushes the pants and his underwear down with his knuckles, not much but enough that he can wrap his fingers around the head, give it a twist as his mouth continues to get Donna off. Her fingers are painful on his scalp as he laps at her, and with the sounds she's making he's almost glad he can't touch himself in earnest; he's way too close as it is. He groans against her and it makes her whimper, her fingers tugging at his hair.

"Harvey, please," she moans, grabbing his shoulder and bunching his shirt in her grasp.

He does that thing with his tongue that she likes and she buckles into his mouth.

"I need you," she slips her leg off his shoulder. "To," tugs on his shirt.

Slowly getting up, Harvey kisses his way up her body, dragging his lips over her stomach, under her breast. His mouth closing around her nipple makes her moan, louder this time. Swirling his tongue, he makes her do it again, and again, his ears full of her wanting him. His other hand is between her legs, and he pushes two fingers inside her. She clamps around them immediately, wet and so fucking responsive. He continues pumping his fingers as he stands taller, taking her mouth, his kiss forceful and greedy, and she bites his lip when he adds the third finger. Moans loudly when he hits that spot.

Her hands fly to his pants, hastily pulling them down along with his briefs. He steps out, kicks the clothes to the side. Pushing up and into her, his hands under her ass, and she's above him, arms crossed around his neck, bending her head to kiss him as her legs wrap around him. His erection is pressing against her and it wouldn't take much to slip inside her. Her eyes open and she knows it, too.

"What are you waiting for?" she asks, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I'm trying really hard not to screw you against your front door."

"Why?"

He doesn't really have an answer to that, except that tonight feels too momentous and heavy for a quick fuck but he doesn't want to go there. "My knees aren't what they were a decade ago, Donna," he says instead and if she doesn't buy it, she doesn't say anything.

Spinning them around he carries her across the living room, his fingers splayed over her back, her legs draped around his waist. Her hair tickles his cheeks as they devour each other. He's about to reach the table, when she drags her mouth away.

"The sofa," she manages between labored breaths.

He stops and frowns, clearly missing something.

Donna swallows, her eyes dropping. "I need to be able to sleep in my bed tonight. And when you go," her eyes meet his and the realization hits him square in the chest. He'll go and she'll have to live with his choices.

 _Goddammit_.

Harvey closes his eyes. "Donna, this -"

"No, Harvey," her hands are on his face, her voice warning. "Don't do this."

"Donna," he says her name firmly, shaking his head, "It's not worth it." Because he's not.

"For once," she says, her thumb catching the corner of his mouth. "Would you let me be the judge of that."

Looking past her, his mouth parts and his chin juts out, his fingers starting to loosen their hold on her. She slips down his body until her feet touch the floor. Barefoot, she looks so much smaller.

He opens his mouth to say something but she beats him to it. "For once, Harvey, I wish you'd have the guts to finish what you started."

His nostrils flare and he thinks fuck it. They both need this and maybe they're both being selfish. Maybe love _is_ selfish. He wouldn't know; he's only ever really loved her.

Grabbing her waist, he pulls her in, his mouth bruising hers, demanding and taking, and hers is no different. It feels like a goodbye.

Turning them around, he walks them back until his knees hit the sofa. Her hands push the shirt off his shoulders but she gives up before it's completely off. Bracing a hand on the back of the couch, he puts his knee up as he lowers them down. There's little finesse, as she falls into the cushions, him on top of her, frantic with need. Donna's head lands next to his hand, her hair covering it. He pins her there, his hips and his chest and his mouth on her, her body responsive to his every touch. Circling her hips, she rubs herself over the length of him and he groans, his fingers bruising on her waist.

He moves to position himself, but his movements are sloppy, unfocused. Simply moving against her like this feels incredible. Donna moans as he continues rubbing his erection over her clit. He looks at her and it's all he can never go back from.

She's all he can never go back from.

He slides the hand off the sofa and into her hair, fingers tangling at the top. Reaching down with the other, he takes himself in hand, dragging his head down her clit and over her entrance. Her breath is hot on his face, her eyes half-lidded and unguarded and she loves Mike and she loves Rachel. But she loves him.

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he's better now than he was a few months ago, and he wants to tell her that. He wants to tell her about the panic attacks and about therapy; he wants to tell her about his mother. He's never felt the need to talk about Lily with anyone, but he wants to, with Donna.

He also wants to tell her about his dreams and how she's in each and every one. He wants to tell her he loves her and he wants to tell her how.

He doesn't. He can't, not now. But one day, he really fucking wants to.

"It's not just Mike," he whispers, and she frowns. He cocks his head, offers what little he can, "I need to be the man that deserves _you_."

Her face softens at his words, primal giving way to something permanent, something familiar. The hand on the back of his neck moves across, cradles his face. "You've always been that man, Harvey. Since the moment I met you."

She's looking at him with absolute unwavering conviction and he doesn't know if it's true, but she seems to think so, and that's all that matters. Her hips move, nudging him, and he lifts his eyebrows and she gives him a nod, and then he's pushing inside her.

His eyelids fall shut with that first feel of her, so wet and tight around him as he buries himself inside her. He hears her sharp intake of breath, feels her fingers press behind his ear and bunch the sleeve of his shirt and he opens his eyes to see. She's dishevelled and undone – such a stark contrast to his everyday – and he could kick himself for all he won't allow himself to have. Harvey grabs her thigh, her leg coming up, her knee against his ribs and it opens her up to him more.

He starts to move.

Lowering his head, the tip of his nose brushes along her cheek then back as he continues to move, the hand in her hair gathering the strands. She turns her head to press her open mouth to his, gripping his arm tighter as she starts to meet his thrusts. It's slow and measured, his strokes long and deep, his hips angling in the effort to hit that spot, make her unravel. When her hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging in, her eyes screwing shut as her mouth falls open on a guttural moan, he knows he's found it.

Bracing himself against the couch once again, his other hand pushes her knee to the side as he speeds up, hitting that spot again and again, watching Donna come undone beneath him. She's close, he knows, and he runs his hand from her knee to her pussy. Pads of his fingers pressing into her lower belly, his thumb rubs her clit. It's clumsy and unfocused – he tries his best, but he's caught up in the feel of her around him.

He wanted to lose himself in Donna and that's exactly what's happening. It tips her over the edge anyway.

Her hand encircles his wrist, clammy and tense, silently steadying him as his thumb moves against her frantically. He slams into her and feels sees hears her come undone, her walls tightening around him as she grabs the nape of his neck and lifts off the sofa, her mouth fusing to his as she rides it out.

The change in angle triggers his own orgasm a moment later. His hands are on her back, pressing her to him, and his hips jerk and he's coming inside her. They cling to each other as they both gradually relax. His hold loosening, she collapses back on the couch, with him on top of her. Burying his face in her neck, he tries to get his breathing under control.

The silence that follows is deafening. He can't promise her tomorrow is going to work out and she can't give him her blessing, so they stay silent, his hand caressing her side, her nails idly drawing patterns on the back of his head.

"You should go."

Kissing the top of her shoulder, he nods. It's scary how much he wants to stay. How much he wants to take her to bed and never leave.

He props himself up on his elbows, his eyes on hers. "I couldn't live with myself."

"I know." Her fingers brushing his ear, she murmurs, "You're a good man, Harvey." He still thinks he's doing the bare minimum, but he doesn't argue. He just hopes tomorrow, it's enough.

They get dressed and she sees him out.

"Harvey," she calls out and he turns around. "Whatever happens, we'll all stand by you. You know that."

She means her, and he nods. It's not a ringing endorsement, but it's a hell of a lot more supportive than he'd be if the tables were turned.

He wants to kiss her, can still feel her on his lips and on his fingertips, and everywhere. Her hair is tousled and her lipstick gone and she's beautiful.

He steps back, putting some distance between them. "Goodnight, Donna."

She nods, hugging her middle. "Good luck, Harvey."

He goes home and thinks about Mike and tries not to think about Donna at all.

He doesn't sleep.

.

In the end, Mike beats him to the right thing, which he finds only fitting. Mike has always been the better guy.

He doesn't want to think about what he would have done had Mike been found guilty. He suspects he would have taken the fall, for Mike, for the firm, for his family. He doesn't think Donna would have blamed him for it. Hopes she'd have forgiven him, eventually. But he thinks about what she said, about how he felt when she was facing prison; how he would have felt had she been convicted, and he loves Mike and he loves Jessica.

But he loves Donna.

He knows he would have traded places with Mike had it come to that, knows it was never a choice to begin with. But he also knows it wasn't his freedom or his licence he gave a shit about.

For a self-loathing moment, he feels relieved he didn't have to make that choice. Thinks it's high time he fought for what he did actually care about.

He comes to her door, no tie and a rumpled look, still a little bit high from the weed. Still a whole lot of low from all the losses over the past couple of days. He's exhausted and defeated, and he doesn't think he deserves this still, but he thinks maybe she deserves that he try. He can almost hear Mike in his ear, telling him to get over himself and stop squandering his freedom. He hears Donna, asking him what Mike saved them all for.

He takes a deep breath when he hears her unlocking the door.

"Harvey." Her hair is up and she's wearing a silky bathrobe and she's breathtaking.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I was just making some phone calls for Rachel," she pulls the material tighter around herself, leans against the frame with her arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"

"You were right," he says without preambule. "I want what Mike did to mean something."

"We will rebuild, Harvey," she says, but she's eyeing him a certain way, and he thinks it's because she knows the real reason he's here.

"We will," he agrees, because they will. It's their home. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here, Harvey?"

"Because," he starts with a raise of his eyebrows, her words from earlier coming to him easily. "I don't want to look back three weeks from now, or three months, or three years." Cause he can definitely see that happening, too. "And realize I've made the biggest mistake of my life."

"What are you saying, Harvey?"

"I'm saying," he takes a step closer, his heart in his throat. "Mike gave up everything for us. His freedom, his future. The woman he loves." He pauses, looking at her pointedly. "And it seems unfair, that I should have any of that, but," he chews the inside of his cheek, his hand balling in a fist by his side. Taking a deep breath, he mans the hell up. "If I don't at least try and make this work, then what the hell did he save me for?"

Donna blinks at him, her mouth hanging open. "Love?"

He shrugs, "Love."

The corner of her mouth tugs with the beginning of a smile. She bites down on it. "That's a big word."

Doesn't he know it. "It is."

"Harvey," she sighs, turning serious. "Are you sure about this? It's been a hell of a night, and you're probably still coming down from the weed and everything that's happened, and –"

"Donna," he interrupts her in a low voice, moving closer still. "This isn't new."

She stares at him, her eyes flicking between his, recognizing the truth of it. "No. It isn't."

"So," he hooks his finger around hers. "Are you going to invite me in?"

Biting her lip, she pretends to think it over. "I don't know, it's getting kind of late."

"Really? Cause I thought the timing was just right."

"You would," she rolls her eyes at him, but she's moving aside to invite him in.

Stepping into her doorway, he tugs at her hand, halting her. "I'm a mess, Donna," he says earnestly.

She doesn't dismiss it. Instead, her eyes narrow as she considers him, and he's grateful. If they're gonna do this, it has to be with their eyes wide open. Lifting her arm, she runs gentle fingers along his jaw. "I know who you are, Harvey."

He stares back at her, taking in the truth of that. Nodding, he pulls her in by her waist, and he's not afraid to ask. "What do you need?"

"I need you to take me to bed," she replies simply.

He feels his eyes crinkle with the beginning of a smile. "I was hoping you'd say that."

She stands on her tiptoes just a bit, and presses her mouth to his. He parts his in response, gently sucking on her top lip, his tongue darting out to taste her. It's slow and gentle and nothing like the other night. Where the other one felt like the last, this one feels a lot like the first; like he'll get to do this a lot from now on.

The thought makes him grin against her lips.

He doesn't get to take her to bed until much later because she's busy making sure Rachel gets to see Mike. He groans appropriately and fixes himself a drink as he watches her do her magic, but really, he doesn't mind one bit.

When he does take her to bed, it's almost dawn and they're both exhausted. He spoons behind her and they make love, and it's slow and sleepy, his nose in her hair and her hand over his on her belly as they both come around each other. They doze off like that for an hour or so and then they get to rebuilding.

He holds her close to his chest, exactly where she's always been.


End file.
